


Shattered are the Stars

by ladymedraut



Series: Repurposed Imperial Scrap Metal [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Destruction of Alderaan (Star Wars), Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Battle of Yavin (Star Wars), and all that that entails, eventually, i think if you squint this is technically canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymedraut/pseuds/ladymedraut
Summary: "You've been sitting here since the Death Star blew," Zeb said, settling into the chair next to him. Kallus could have almost sworn there was a look of concern in those yellow eyes. "You haven't slept in days. You've been living on caf. Karabast, you're going to give that rebel heart of yours a heart attack. "Kallus' fingers twitched again, and he couldn't tell whether it was from the caf of a longing to return to the datapad."I have to find them, Zeb."---After the Battle of Yavin and the destruction of Alderaan, Alexsandr Kallus assigns himself a mission.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Series: Repurposed Imperial Scrap Metal [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097309
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

"You missed the ceremony."

"Huh?" Kallus didn't look up from his datapad as he reached for his mug of caf. It was empty, again. Karabast. This was his... fifth? sixth? twelfth? He had lost count what number cup of caf this was. "Do me a favor, Zeb, and get me some more caf? Please?"

The weight of the mug vanished from his hand, which Kallus assumed meant it would return to him in approximately two minutes and thirty-four seconds, or the time it took a new cup of caf to brew and Zeb to walk back to his station. His hand twitched on the datapad, jumping through streams of information, before miraculously landing on what he was looking for. Perhaps there really was a Force or an Ashla or something out there somewhere. He made a note and kept scrolling.

"Kal."

The mug was pressed back into his hand and he took a long sip of—water? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't caf, and it was enough to finally drag his eyes away from the datapad. 

"You've been sitting here since the Death Star blew," Zeb said, settling into the chair next to him. Kallus could have almost sworn there was a look of concern in those yellow eyes. "You haven't slept in days. You've been living on caf. Karabast, you're going to give that rebel heart of yours a heart attack. "

Kallus' fingers twitched again, and he couldn't tell whether it was from the caf of a longing to return to the datapad. 

"I have to find them, Zeb." It was only years of strict ISB training that kept his voice steady. 

"Find who?"

"Not..." He gulped back a swell of... something rising from his chest. "Not everyone was on Alderaan."

"What are you talking about, Kal?" A large purple hand reached out to grab his before it could return to the datapad, and Kallus found himself forced to look up into Zeb's face, a face that already knew the answer to the question he had asked. Because if anyone knew what happened to a people whose planet was destroyed, it was Garazeb Orrelios. Death Star, ion disruptors, it was the same story repeating itself over and over again, and _he had helped write it_ —no, that wasn't productive. Not now. Zeb knew the answer, but he was still expecting a response. 

"Children at off-planet academies," he said, pulling up the pitifully short list he had been compiling. "Families vacationing off-world. Visiting relatives. Looking for work. People who took a shuttle somewhere and didn't know they wouldn't have anything to return to."

"You've been tracking down the survivors of Alderaan."

"The children. I've been trying to find the children. Before... before the Empire does."

"And you've found some."

Kallus nodded, not trusting himself as he slid the datapad toward Zeb. 

"A diplomatic internship program on Naboo," Zeb read. "Makes sense. And since something like that would have to be approved by the Empire..."

"It's in their records too. I've made contact with one of them, and she's asked for assistance. I'm going to get them out." Kallus was already on his feet, already moving, propelled by equal parts adrenaline and caf that had been coursing through his veins since Alderaan fell, since—

Zeb's hand on his shoulder brought him to a halt. "No."

"Garazeb—"

" _We'll_ get them out. And see them to wherever they need to go. Come on, we'd better go to Mon Mothma with this."

* * *

"Absolutely not. We are in the middle of an evacuation."

Kallus bit back the furious words that rose to his mouth. Yelling at the senator was a futile effort, she respected brutal logic and hard facts much more than displays of anger. It was one of the many things he respected about her. 

"Senator, I can have my section of the Intelligence offices and all of my three personal possessions cleared in half an hour. You won't miss just two people with the rest of the evacuation, and we can rendezvous with you at the new base as soon as we've extracted them—"

Mon Mothma whirled to face him, sorrow and fury pulling her face tight. "I will not lose another Fulcrum agent. You are too valuable to the Rebellion, Captain Kallus."

Ah, of course. Captain Andor. _Cassian._ Kallus hadn't let himself think about it, hadn't let his thoughts dwell on the scrappy young agent he had worked alongside, who he had sparred with in the heat of Yavin IV's jungles, who had been the only person in the galaxy to make his caf even stronger than Kallus', who he had poured over reports with into the small hours of the morning for weeks on end, who had been incinerated on Scarif like so many others had been on Alderaan, on Lasan...

"With all due respect, Senator." He pulled himself back to Imperial attention, back straight, hands clasped, a challenge in his gaze that Mon Mothma couldn't turn away from. He hated that this posture was still second nature to him, that it still felt like slipping into a well-worn uniform. He hated that, to some extent, he still found comfort in the familiarity of it. That wasn't enough to stop him from using it when there was some advantage to be gained. "What if they were your children? What if your planet had just been obliterated, and your children were out there, no family, no home to return to? Would you really leave them to their fate? To be scavenged up by the Empire, or just to... to drift?"

The command center bustled with the dismantling of vidscreens and holoprojectors, supplies being shoved into crates that AP-5 and the other inventory droids would doubtlessly bemoan the state of when they were eventually unpacked again, but their little corner had gone silent the moment Kallus and Mon Mothma locked eyes. 

The senator looked away first. 

"You have three standard rotations. Find who you can find, get them where they need to go, and then rendezvous with the fleet. I'll deal with Draven, you two just get going. Now."

"Thank you, Senator. And..." He didn't know how to say it. This wasn't the sort of thing the Academy had ever covered, nor something he had ever picked up in the field working for the Empire. But he knew that he should say it, somehow. "I'm sorry about Senator Organa, I know you two were close. He was a good man. I... I had the honor to meet him on Coruscant once, before the Clone Wars. He always seemed very kind."

Where had that come from? He hadn't meant to say anything about Coruscant. He had always made a point of _not_ saying anything about his past on Coruscant. Zeb's ears flicked back in surprise, but Kallus barely noticed. 

_That's Bail Organa, the Senator of Alderaan._

_What level is that on?_

_It's not a level, Alexsandr, it's a planet. Up there, somewhere._

No. No, that had happened half a galaxy and most of a lifetime away to a boy who was long dead, buried under the gleaming durasteel of Coruscant that was so rusted and rotten under the surface...

"Kal? Kallus!" Zeb's voice brought him back from wherever—or whenever—his mind had wandered off to, courtesy of too much caf and too little sleep. "You still in there?"

"Hm? Yes, just thinking we should let Hera and Sabine know where we're going. We'll have to take the _Meteorite._ " He knew Zeb was still looking at him strangely as they left central command, but this was something he couldn't explain right now, not when he had to use most of his attention to slow his breathing back to something resembling normal. 

"I'll talk to Hera and Sabine," Zeb said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'll grab my stuff from the _Ghost_ , you pack up your station, and I'll meet you at the _Meteorite._ Finally get a chance to see all those modifications you and Sabine have made. You said it should take you 'bout half an hour?"

"Yes. Thank you, Zeb."

There wasn't much time for him to pack up. He hadn't exactly had many personal effects in the Empire, and after the Battle of Atollon he had escaped to Yavin IV with only the clothes on his back. He had technically been given quarters on the base, and he stopped by to grab the few items of spare clothing stored there, but he could count on one hand the number of times he had actually slept there. If the _Ghost_ was off-world, he would rather sleep in his bunk on the _Meteorite_ any day. The humidity was shit either place, so he might as well be ready to fly at a moment's notice. 

Back in the Intelligence headquarters, about half of the workspaces had already been cleared. There were still many areas where the Rebel Alliance was sadly lacking in discipline, but breaking down and evacuating a base was not one of them. 

Kallus stowed his personal equipment in the crate that already contained his clothes and checked the transmission history on his datapad one more time to make sure nothing had slipped through while he was packing. The last transmission was still the encrypted channel with the Alderaanian student. 

_This is Fulcrum, with the Rebel Alliance. Do you or any other survivors of Alderaan require assistance? Reports indicate you may be under Imperial surveillance._

_This is Sora Nahara of Alderaan. Imperial presence increasing on Naboo. Requesting immediate extraction for four._

_We are coming._

He would have gone even if Mon Mothma had denied his request. He owed them that much. 

Kallus made the mistake of closing his eyes, and it was all there in front of him again. The flash of the explosion on Onderon that knocked him to the ground, but when he struggled to his feet there was a T-7 ion disruptor rifle in his hands that he fired at the Lasat in front of him as Lasan fell in flames around him, but when the fireball of the burning world receded it revealed the charred wreck of Minister Tua's shuttle, and when he looked at it there was something crushing, crushing, _crushing_ his ribs and Thrawn was laughing and Phoenix Squadron was going up in flames over Atollon and Alderaan was disintegrating before his eyes and that crushing weight was still _there_ and he couldn't breath, _he couldn't breathe—_

"Kallus?" came a voice from very, very far away, almost drowned out by a screaming like TIE fighters in his ears. "Kallus. I need you to breathe with me, soldier."

 _Onderon, Atollon, Alderaan, Lasan,_ the litany chased itself around and around inside his head. _Onderon, Atollon, Alderaan, Lasan, s_ _o much I couldn't do, so much I should have done—_

"Alexsandr." There was a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder, but he was shaking too hard to shrug it off as he usually would. "You're on Yavin IV. You're safe. Death Star's gone, we're gonna live to kick the Empire's ass another day. Breathe with me now, in, two, three, four..."

He breathed to the count of the voice, and slowly, slowly, that horrible pressure on his chest eased. He was still in the Intelligence headquarters on Yavin IV, standing in front of his station with his knuckles white on his chair and an old clone trooper at his side. 

"Rex," he said when he had enough air back in his lungs to speak. "Thank you."

"We've all been through hell the past few weeks. But we're still here."

"We're still here," Kallus echoed, his breathing settling back to something like normal. He'd thought these... moments ( _panic attacks_ , Hera had called them, _a perfectly understandable reaction to everything you've been through_ ) would fade as he settled into the Rebellion. He had been wrong. "I'm sorry to take up your time, you must be busy with the evacuation—"

"Listen to me." Rex put his hands on his shoulders and spun him around so that Kallus was forced to look him in the eye. "It's never a waste of time to look after your friends." _You're not in the Empire anymore. Compassion isn't a weakness._ Rex didn't say it aloud this time, but Kallus had heard it often enough from the old clone trooper to know what that look meant. 

"I take it Zeb told you where we're headed?"

"He did. Told him I'd lend you a hand moving your gear to the hangar." He bent down to pick up a small cushion made from a patchwork of scrap fabric . "I take it the little monster is going with you?"

"Rex, I know you have important—" A glare from Rex killed the rest of the thought before it could leave Kallus' mouth. _Right. This is what friends do._ "Yes, he's coming, though I haven't seen the mangy little fuzzball since this morning. And I would appreciate your assistance moving all this to the hangar, if you have time."

Rex grinned as he tucked the cushion under his arm and picked up the few larger pieces of equipment that wouldn't fit in the crate. "See? Not so bad, is it?"

Kallus hefted his crate and fought back that flickering feeling that tugged the corners of his mouth ever so slightly upward.

* * *

The _Meteorite_ was an old Imperial shuttle that Kallus had been assigned for use on Intelligence missions. Draven had smirked as he handed him the access codes, cracking some witty remark about how repurposed Imperials belonged together, but there had been less malice behind it than Kallus had expected. In return, he had even chuckled quietly at Draven's joke, earning him a flash of a true smile. 

_Lambda_ -class shuttles weren't meant for comfortable living—or living at all, really—but thanks to some creative modifications, most of the hold had been converted into a tiny galley-plus-common-area and two small "bunkrooms," one of which was empty except for two folding bunks and the other consisting of a slightly larger bunk and all of Kallus' worldly possessions. He'd rather be on the _Ghost_ any day—mostly because if he was on the _Ghost_ , it meant Zeb was there—but the _Meteorite_ was still a decent ship. Practical. Economical. Imperial. 

Rex had left him to pack with a clasp of his wrist and a promise to listen if Kallus ever wanted to talk. _I know it can be tough,_ Rex had said. _There are some battles that just... don't stop, no matter how long ago the actual shots were fired. But just remember you're not alone anymore. I know you've got Zeb, but don't forget you've got the rest of us too._ Kallus shoved a crate of spare transponder parts, half-finished code cylinders, and scraps of Imperial uniforms into a corner of his bunkroom, sticking it under his old ISB chest plate that Sabine had painted with her phoenix emblem and purple stripes vaguely reminiscent of a Lasat's markings. He set out the tattered nest made from scraps of old fabric that Hera had stitched together for him on the table in the common area and put a bowl of scraps from his lunch down next to it. 

A tawny, speckled loth-cat bounded up as soon as it heard the bowl hit the shuttle floor, and Kallus gave it an absentminded scratch behind one ear. 

"Might be a cramped flight, Jabba. Hopefully will be, at least."

The loth-cat chirped at him and curled up on its bed. He'd never meant to get attached to the thing, much less bring it with him, but it had started hanging around him the last time he had been on Lothal and jumped into the _Meteorite_ when he left. By the time he had noticed he had a stowaway, he was already two hyperspace jumps to Yavin IV. The loth-cat hadn't seemed too bothered by the sudden change of scenery, and it kept the rodent population in the temple down, and so it had stayed. It had reminded Zeb of Ezra, hence the name. There had been some debate as to whether "Jabba" or "Ez" was more appropriate, but—much to Andor's amusement—Kallus' suggestion had won the moment the remaining _Ghost_ crew had seen just how food motivated the little creature was. 

There was also that one incident where it had snuck onboard the _Meteorite_ during one of his solo missions and ended up saving his ass by mauling some stormtroopers who tried to board his ship, an incident which of course had made its way around base thanks to an ill-thought-out decision to get drinks with Sabine. Thanks to Draven's sense of humor, his loth-cat was now technically his commanding officer, with an insignia on his collar and everything. 

Colonel Jabba Kallus-Orrelios yawned, showing a set of wickedly sharp teeth, and promptly fell asleep. 

"Karabast, you _live_ on this thing when I'm not around?" 

Zeb was standing at the ramp, pack and bo-rifle slung over his shoulder, staring around the _Meteorite_ like he'd never seen it before. Well, to be fair, he hadn't ever seen it fully stocked and prepped for an extended mission before. He hadn't had time to fly on it since the modifications had been finished either. 

Kallus shrugged. "Repurposed Imperial."

"That's one of Draven's isn't it?"

"I think Andor might have started it originally." He grinned, and for the first time since Scarif, he felt like he was back on a planet with the right gravity. "Well, come on, we're on the clock. The bunkrooms are, ah, rather small, and the folding bunks definitely aren't Lasat-sized, but I've made the bold assumption you won't mind sharing with me." Zeb chuckled and stowed his pack in Kallus' bunkroom. 

"They couldn't have given you a bigger ship?" Zeb asked as they made their way to the cockpit, where Kallus slipped into the pilot's seat and Zeb fiddled with the copilot's chair to give himself as much leg room as possible. 

"I'm usually flying small crew missions," Kallus shrugged. "Lately it's just been me and...and Andor and Kaytoo." He pushed down the bubble of emotion that rose to his throat whenever he thought about his teammates. His friends, he realized, now that it was too late. No, he wasn't going to break down now. Now he needed to be piloting this ship. He would _not_ think about Cassian haranguing him until he installed cupholders in the cockpit so they could always have a sealed thermos of caf within easy reach, he would _not_ think about Kaytoo's sarcastic commentary about whatever system they were headed to as he programmed the nav computer... No, not now. He had a mission.

Kallus powered up the engines and glanced over at Zeb as the _Meteorite_ hummed to life. "You got enough leg room there? It's a long couple jumps to Naboo."

"Plenty. You modified this for me, didn't you? Imp shuttles are usually designed for human co-pilots."

"I did. Figured we'd take her out together eventually." He flicked on the comm and hailed Yavin IV flight control. "This is Ember One to base, requesting takeoff from Pad Five."

" _Base to Ember One, you are cleared for takeoff. May the Force be with you, Captain._ "

Zeb turned to him, ears twitching as Kallus gave his callsign. "What happened to Spectre Seven? And Fulcrum?"

"Technically, I'm both. Spectre Seven in the _Ghost_ and Ember One when I'm on my own missions. Fulcrum's a codename, not a callsign. I'd rather not announce to the entire base what ship I'm in." He took them up into the atmosphere and watched as Yavin IV fell away beneath him for what was likely the last time. He couldn't say he was sorry to see it go. The humidity did no favors for his hair. 

"Do you pick up another alias every time I leave base?" 

"Possibly."

"And, wait, does this mean Intelligence promoted you? When did that happen?"

"I suppose it does, sort of. It's possible we have some catching up to do." Kallus finished the calculations for their first hyperspace jump, and the stars streamed by as they left Yavin IV behind. "Good thing we've got a long flight."


	2. Chapter 2

Zeb stared at the man next to him with a whole new level of whatever that fuzzy feeling in his chest was. He'd known that Kallus had been working his way up the ranks of Rebel Intelligence with his ceaseless work ethic and impressive skill set. Kallus had said as much in the brief transmissions he'd managed to send. But between Zeb being off in the _Ghost_ and trying to support Hera through her pregnancy and Kallus being on a series of undercover missions, they hadn't overlapped on Yavin IV long enough to properly catch up in months. 

"So, Ember One? How'd ya convince Draven to let that one fly?"

Kallus chuckled, and Ashla, how Zeb had missed that sound. "Contrary to what Draven may believe, he is not actually the pinnacle of Alliance High Command. I get my commissions from General Cracken."

"And who's the rest of your usual crew, or is that all classified too?" Zeb didn't make a habit of studying Imperial ship design, but he knew a _Lambda-_ class shuttle usually needed at least two to operate it adequately, and a crew of five to six was preferable. If they were running short-term infiltration missions, it would have looked suspicious to have too small of a crew. 

The silence after his question went on for just a little too long, and when he glanced over at Kallus, he could have sworn those hazel eyes were wet. "It's just me," Kallus said, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

"Oh, Kal..." Before Zeb even thought about what he was doing, he was out of his chair and wrapping his arms around the human, and Kallus was collapsing onto his shoulder and twining his fingers in Zeb's fur. 

"We were on Scarif," was all he managed to choke out, and Zeb just rubbed his back and held him close. Those had been some of the worst hours of his life, knowing Kallus was on those beaches and there was nothing he could do other than blast as many TIE fighters out of the air from the _Ghost_ as he could and pray to the Ashla that the planetary shield went down again. And then the explosion and the jump to hyperspace and that lump of dread in his chest as he waited for an incoming transmission, hoping against hope—

And it had come. The Fulcrum symbol flickering to life over the control panel, and Kallus' voice, full of exhaustion and grief but also _life_. 

_Garazeb, please come in. Stars, Garazeb, please come in and tell me you're okay—_

_I'm here. I'm okay. The_ Ghost _is safe and headed back to base. Are you okay? Where are you?_

_Oh, thank the stars. The leg's a little busted again, but I'll live. Heading back to base too._

It wasn't until long after they'd both returned to Yavin IV and fallen—very briefly—asleep in each other's arms on the _Ghost_ that Zeb heard the story from Hera. How Kallus and some Alderaanian SpecForce officer had stolen a TIE fighter as the Death Star rose of Scarif. How, despite a broken leg, a broken arm, and seven cracked ribs between the pair of them, they had somehow escaped the blast and gotten into orbit. How the _Consonance_ had scooped them up before retreating into hyperspace, moments before Imperial reinforcements arrived. 

"I shouldn't be the one who keeps making it out. It's not—"

"Don't you dare," Zeb growled. "We're going to make it through this war, and once we've won we're going to settle down in a house by a river with a big garden out front, and you're finally going to learn to cook something other than space waffles, and I'll have a woodshop, and we'll get into all sorts of trouble with Hera for teaching Jacen things."

"I don't deserve—"

"What about what I deserve, huh? Don't you dare go ruining my happy ending by dying on me, 'cause then I'd have to kill you, and that wouldn't be very romantic, now would it?"

"Fair point, as always," Kallus whispered into his shoulder. He slumped there, exhausted, for a few more minutes before Zeb realized he was half asleep and likely to nod off right then and there if he didn't do something about it. 

"Kal, when was the last time you slept more than two hours in a row?"

"Uh... About a week ago? The day before Scarif, I think."

"Bunk. Now. I'll watch the ship."

It was a sign of how exhausted Kallus must have been that he didn't argue. He just stood up, squeezed Zeb's shoulder, and limped out of the cockpit. 

"Wake me up when we drop out of hyperspace? I'll need to send a transmission to my contact."

"Of course. Now go get your beauty sleep."

After Kallus left and the creaking of his bunk indicated that he was actually going to sleep instead of scanning more reports on his datapad, Zeb reclined in the co-pilot's seat and resisted the urge to kick his feet up onto the dashboard. He knew Sabine and Ketsu had helped make some modifications to the ship, and who knew what would explode if he touched the wrong button. He opted for draping his feet over Kallus' unoccupied seat instead, one foot skimming over a button on the armrest. 

A holoimage flickered to life over the armrest. The day it had been taken had been one of his happiest since Atollon, but he hadn't remembered anyone had been taking pictures... The image was a candid shot from a trip they'd taken to a swimming hole in a river near the main Massassi temple the week after Kallus' lengthy debrief had finally concluded and he'd been given freedom of the base. Kanan, Ezra, and Sabine had already been on their way to Mandalore, but the rest of the extended _Ghost_ crew was eternally frozen in time with their heads thrown back in laughter and streams of water arcing through the air. 

Zeb was standing chest-deep in the water with Kallus perched on his shoulders, facing off against a similarly stacked Wolffe and Rex as each team tried to tackle the other into the river in what Ezra had liked to call "chicken-walker wrestling." Ketsu and Wedge were sitting on the rocks nearby, mouths open as they yelled encouragement. A glimpse of Hera and Chopper sneaking up on them with a bucket of water could be faintly seen in the background. 

Which meant the holo had been taken by... Who else had been there? Hobbie had been out flying, AP-5 would never have left off work for that long... Oh. Zeb remembered in a flash the young intelligence officer Kallus had befriended during his debriefing. Another Fulcrum agent. Andor must have taken it, which would explain why Kallus had it and Zeb had never known it existed. 

Zeb and Kallus had technically won that game of chicken-walked, largely thanks to Zeb's prehensile feet, an advantage that they had never quite decided if it constituted as a foul or not. 

_Wonder if this'll be what life is like after the war?_ Zeb had said later, as they lay on the grass to dry off. 

_There's an 'after'?_ Kallus had replied, so softly that Zeb wasn't sure if he was supposed to have overheard it. Kallus hadn't quite figured out how sensitive his ears were yet. 

Feeling a bit like he was intruding too much on Kallus' personal space, Zeb tried to close the holoimage—though he would have to ask if there were any more later, if Andor had managed to capture the moment when Rex and Wolffe went down, the blackmail possibilities were endless—but only succeeded in pulling up a file of unsent transmission drafts. The holo switched to the Fulcrum symbol, and Kallus' voice began playing. 

_"Garazeb. If you are listening to this, it means I didn't make it on Malastare. I am so, so sorry—"_ As soon as Zeb realized what he was listening too, he tried to turn it off, but it only skipped forward to the next transmission draft. _"If you are listening to this, I didn't make it on Saleucami—didn't make it on Coruscant—Eriadu—Scarif—"_ There were a half dozen unsent recordings from the past year, all programmed to be sent to him if the orders weren't cancelled before a certain date. And there, next to all of them, the cancellation codes. 

"I figure the time I don't record one will be the time I need it."

"Karabast! You're supposed to be sleeping!" He spun around to find Kallus leaning up against the wall, and he had a strong suspicion that was the only thing keeping him upright. 

"Hard to sleep with your farewell address playing in the next room. This ship doesn't exactly have the thickest walls. Trying to use my chair as a footrest again, Garazeb?"

Zeb sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Didn't mean to go through your transmission logs. And, well... I wish you didn't have to put yourself in a position where you might not come back, but I'm proud that you're out there making a difference. And, well, it's nice that you're thinking of me. But you'd better always make it back in time to cancel these."

Kallus ducked his head and hit a button on the panel in front of Zeb, and a footrest extended itself from under the console. 

"I'm going to try that sleeping thing again." He tossed Zeb a datastick. "The rest of Andor's holos are on here, if you were curious."

* * *

Kallus looked to be several star systems away. There was something about this mission that the man wasn't telling him, and Zeb hadn't yet figured out if it was the sort of thing he should give him time to mull over or that he should press now, before it turned into nightmares and weeks of sleepless nights. 

It was impossible to tell if the bags under Kallus' eyes, still prominent after the six hours of sleep he'd had, were tied to this mission or to everything else that had happened over the past week. 

"So where do you think the next base is going to be?" The problem with having an ex-ISB agent and one of the best Rebel Intelligence officers as a partner was that it was kriffing hard to get information out of him that he didn't want to share. Good thing Zeb had plenty of practice. 

"I've heard rumors about somewhere cold, although that could just be Draven messing with me."

"I seriously doubt Command would choose a base just because it makes your leg worse."

"True, but it does mean General Nerfherder would work even harder to promote its other virtues."

"He knows that causing intentional harm to his operatives is stupid, right?" Zeb had already offered to show Draven the error of his ways—preferably via his fists—several times, but Kallus had declined. _It will only make him worse. And earn you a reprimand from General Dodonna._

Kallus merely shrugged, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning his seat back as hyperspace streaked past them. They were on their second jump, and Zeb was beginning to suspect he wasn't going to be able to get Kallus to let slip any clues as to what was eating at him—beside the obvious in the aftermath of Scarif and Yavin IV—before they landed. 

"So what's the plan here? We set down on Naboo in an Imperial shuttle and hope for the best?"

"We land in the forest outside the city. We get to the university, we find the kids, we get out."

"Statistically, you know there have to be at least three explosions and one Inquisitor or meddlesome ISB agent in there somewhere."

"Do I count as the meddlesome ISB agent?" Kallus smirked, fingers flashing over the console as he opened a secure channel and hailed the diplomat school on Naboo. _"This is Fulcrum. We are en route to arrive in eleven hours."_

"And we know this is definitely them?" Zeb asked as Kallus cut the transmission. "Not some elaborate trap by the Empire to draw us in?" In hindsight, he probably should have asked this question before taking off from Yavin IV. Not that he didn't trust Kallus' skills, but, well, the man hadn't slept properly in over a week. Mistakes could be forgiven, as long as they were both alive to do the forgiving afterward. 

"It's really them. I'm certain of it." The stars streaked back into their usual, steady pinpricks of light as the _Meteorite_ dropped out of hyperspace and Kallus started plugging a new set of coordinates into the nav computer. "Next stop, Naboo."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, remember how in [Blankets and Blackmail](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831493) I said that fic was part of a longer series? This is that series... Yes, this is the portion that contains all the angst. Fair warning, this probably won't update regularly, but it will update... eventually.


End file.
